


No Such Thing As An Omen

by sageness



Category: Smallville
Genre: Canon - TV, Cover Art, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-06-26
Updated: 2004-06-26
Packaged: 2017-10-03 11:32:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sageness/pseuds/sageness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lex watched her go, heels tottering a little in the thick grass. In the car, she'd told him it was the same dress she'd worn to his memorial service last summer. She'd packed it to and from Paris with her and was wearing it for luck. To bring Chloe back safe and sound.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Such Thing As An Omen

**Author's Note:**

> The cover art was made by the amazing LauraB1. Many thanks to Happyminion, __Fallen, Wanderlustlover, and Ms_hecubus for suggestions; to Nifra_Idril for helping clarify my crack-headed speculation; and to Thamiris, from whom I borrowed a pretty blue lake.

__

* * *

 

  


 

* * *

  


_               There is no such thing as an omen. Destiny does not send us heralds. She is too wise or too cruel for that._

                         —Oscar Wilde, from _The Picture of Dorian Gray_

She slept through the flight back for the funeral. She had known what was coming, but she hadn't expected it to be so soon. For some reason, she'd imagined it happening on Fourth of July weekend, perhaps so that she could have a reason to come home. After all, fireworks and apple pie seemed like more of a 'Chloe' way to go out, but apparently the feds hadn't thought so, and she had no way of knowing if things had gone off as planned.

All she knew for certain was that all of their friends, and quite a few people who could never be called their friends, surrounded her, many with tears streaming, upon the manicured grass of Metropolis Memorial Cemetery. Pete was nearby, bawling on Clark's unyielding shoulder, an older brother standing by to drive him back to Wichita whenever he was ready. His mom had refused to let him to make the trip alone.

A tacky green awning shaded the pair of open graves and the little row of folding chairs reserved for those who couldn't stand. The caskets lay side by side on their rollers. A pair of cemetery employees sat on a bench several rows away, waiting for the crowd to disperse so they could finish the actual burial.

Lex stood by Gabe's flower-laden casket, shaking hands with dozens of employees, hugging a few weeping women, ignoring the obvious manner in which Clark was ignoring him. Nell and Dean were around somewhere, probably gossiping about the case against Lionel. It was the only other thing anyone was talking about. It was the only thing Lex was refusing to talk about.

He was at her elbow again, checking on her while pointedly not-looking at Clark. The knot of high school kids around them magically dissolved under his glare. "How are you holding up?"

She shrugged and spoke under her breath. "I don't know how much longer I can keep saying I'm in shock."

"The worst of it will be over soon."

"It won't be soon enough," she said, smiling politely across the crowd of mourners at Principal Reynolds after accidentally catching his eye.

"I agree," Lex answered smoothly.

"Should I bother asking what's up between you and Clark?"

He shook his head slightly and she tried not to notice the way his neck curved against the white collar of his shirt. "It's nothing worth worrying about."

"All right."

She watched Lex glide away to rejoin a few of Gabe's grieving former coworkers, and then threaded her way through the milling crowd until she reached Clark and Pete. Clark had an arm around his shoulders, and Pete was crying openly. Lana embraced him, hiding her face against his dark blazer. It was going to be awful when the trial finally ended and Chloe managed to make her return. Pete would never forgive her for breaking his heart like this, even though the feds had forbidden Chloe to tell anyone else. It took Lana a while to compose her face, and by the time she had, Pete was finally beginning to get control of himself.

"I just can't believe it," he was saying over and over. "It doesn't make any sense."

All she could say was, "I know," and hug him again. It was a shame they hadn't been better friends while he was here. It felt odd that the main thing they had in common was Chloe...and Clark, but that was so completely different that it didn't bear comparison. But she and Pete had both loved Chloe, and sharing that was what she needed right now. Even if Chloe had never responded in quite the ways they'd wished for.

Lana wasn't sure quite what that meant now -- now that she was gone. Things had been so great at first, back before the accident in the stables. But then...well, as one of her nurses had said, 'nothing changes you like a near-death experience.' And it was true, even though she still hadn't found a way to explain it. She'd been bed-bound for so long, and then the wheelchair, the crutches, the cane -- it had taken a huge toll on their friendship.

The home healthcare aides were a godsend, but once she could put weight on the cast, she didn't need them twenty four hours a day. Chloe had fully supported the shift to part-time. She'd been great, but ignoring the growing strain between them only made it worse.

The little things had been worst of all. Becoming the official Lana-Lang-Liaison for her teachers and classmates. Picking things up that she dropped and couldn't bend down to get without crashing to the floor. Holding her glass, fork, and spoon while Lana grimly hobbled to the table, crutch in one hand, plate in the other...which would inevitably spill all over everything, including herself. It had been horrible. Besides which, some things, like bathroom emergencies, simply weren't meant to be shared with your roommate and sometime-best friend.

By the time Adam happened, they'd become relentlessly polite with each other, but spent as little time together they could while still living in the shadow of Chloe's Wall of Weird.

The truth serum thing had been the breaking point. The entire week afterwards had been awful, but finally a box of cereal had started the argument, and when Lana hurled the word 'Levitas' at Chloe like a heavy stone, the floodgates opened and there was nothing either of them could do. They'd yelled a lot, and stopped each other in turn from storming out, before yelling some more. Then they'd cried. Eventually they curled up together on Chloe's bed to really talk. They'd whispered their secrets and fears to each other until sunrise, and when they awoke, there were hugs and forgiveness and a much improved, if still imperfect, understanding between them.

When Lana had left for Paris, she'd known that whatever else might happen, the girl she was leaving behind was still the best friend she'd ever had.

Pete wasn’t as lucky. He'd lost the girl of his dreams, and now he was stuck with a strange, distracted Clark and a hovering, sympathetic brother who obviously felt helplessly and hopelessly out of place.

"Come to the memorial back in Smallville," she found herself saying. "I can ride back with you and tell you all the best Chloe stories from after you left."

Pete smiled at her gratefully, then looked up at Clark with anticipation, but he was already scowling and pulling away. "Come on, man, it's for Chloe," Pete said, before Clark could refuse.

"I don't know," Clark hedged, searching the crowd for some ready excuse, his parents, anything. Chloe had been his social fallback, too.

"Clark, what do you think she would say if you _didn't_ go to a memorial in her honor?"

"She'd call you a terrible reporter," Pete snickered, probably for the first time in three days. "I bet she's up on a little white cloud right now shouting at us to make sure the Ledger spells her name right. And implicates the hell out of Papa Luthor."

Clark shut his eyes; his face seemed oddly glazed, and his left cheek was twitching as though he had a muscle tic or was trying to restrain intense emotion. Lana touched Pete's arm and gave him a meaningful look. "Why don't you let people know we're heading back soon?" Pete glanced from her to Clark and back and nodded.

When he was out of earshot, she said, "I don't know what's going on, but I don't really need an explanation. The important thing is that --"

"We're burying sand," he said in a cold voice.

"Really?" she asked, caught off guard. "I didn't know what they used."

"It isn't right."

"I agree with you."

He hadn't moved, other than the twitch of face. "This whole thing is stupid."

_Not as stupid as your behavior right now_, she wanted to say, but didn't. "Clark, I can't have this conversation with you here. This isn't the place."

He glared into space above her head. "I'm done with this."

"You're one of her best friends," she replied angrily. "You should be there."

"I can't, Lana. I just can't."

She watched him stalk off through the acres of gravestones. Jonathan Kent had appeared beside her, sweat beading on his brow and beginning to bleed through the fabric of his cheap black suit. Worry and confusion streaked his pallid face, but by now she knew better than to waste her breath on questions. Instead, she smiled up at him sadly, shook her head, and walked away. By the time she reached Lex's side, she could see Clark's parents, arm in arm, staring after his tiny silhouette.

"Is there a problem?" Lex repeated, murmuring a little louder against her ear. It sent a little shiver down her spine, which felt amazing, except that it was Lex...and that was just wrong.

"No," she answered quietly, careful to keep her face a mask of perfect calm. "I don't know why I thought he'd be less standoffish for this than usual."

Lex made a noncommittal noise.

"We're headed back soon, so I'll see you in a while."

"You're not riding with me?"

Lana shook her head and tried not to enjoy the startled look in his eyes. "I feel like I should go with Pete."

**

Lex watched her go, heels tottering a little in the thick grass. In the car, she'd told him it was the same dress she'd worn to his memorial service last summer. She'd packed it to and from Paris with her and was wearing it for luck. To bring Chloe back safe and sound. She'd blushed when she saw his smile at that. It was... He yanked his thoughts back into line. It was _complicated_ was what it was.

"What do you think you're doing?" Clark was standing behind him, was speaking just over his shoulder. Close enough to kiss if he turned fast enough. Not that he'd do that here, although Chloe would probably get a kick out of the story later if he did.

Lex turned his head slowly, a smirk playing on his lips. "So, you've decided that we're on speaking terms again?"

Clark's jaw was clenched tight, eyes steely slits behind long lashes. "She deserves better than you."

"I think you're jumping to conclusions."

Clark's voice rumbled low. "Don't ever let me find out that you've hurt her."

Lex bit his tongue. They both knew calling Clark on this hypocrisy would only win him enough rope to hang himself by. Instead, he drew himself up and leveled his gaze at him. "This argument isn’t about Lana, is it? What will it take for you to accept that my research is only about _me_?"

Clark glanced over at the caskets. Chloe's was covered in a spray of yellow and white flowers, Gabe's in purple and blue. Lex watched his eyes glaze over. Clark swayed a little, before seeming to snap back to attention. He sneered down at Lex. "A miracle."

Looking into his eyes, Lex began, "You know what --"

"She's too young for you. I know you don't care, but...don't screw up her life like you did mine."

"Like I _what_?" Lex snapped, taking a step toward him. "Clark, I've had it with your rash presumptions. At least get the facts straight before you condemn a man."

Clark's eyes were wild. "Right," he said, and gave Lex a strange look.

Lex realized people were staring, so he pasted a neutral expression onto his face and dragged his eyes down to the thinning crowd of mourners. The Kents were walking down the hill toward their truck without saying goodbye. Maybe Clark was riding with someone else. "Out of curiosity, Clark, when did you get contacts?" Lex turned his head, but Clark had already gone.

Lana was definitely right about something being 'off' about Clark's behavior. Lex turned back to the remaining mourners and soon found himself deep in conversation with a couple of LuthorCorp executives who'd known Gabe since Chloe was in grade school. He listened to them reminisce and watched Lana weave through the clumps of teenagers, stopping every couple of yards for another barrage of obligatory hugs.

**

Lana found Pete standing with a group of football players. They weren't friends of Chloe's. Their girlfriends weren't friends of Chloe's. Apparently, with school out for summer, the funeral had become the social event of the year for anyone who could make the drive. But then, it wasn't everyday that one of your classmates' houses blew sky high. And even if the paper said that the arson investigators believed it was a gas leak...nobody was buying it, least of all the small horde of teenage boys who thought it was cool to throw lit firecrackers and fight mock duels with roman candles. They tipped cows, too, but that was generally less explosive.

She tugged at Pete's sleeve. She thought he was just staring into space until she followed his gaze and realized who he was watching. People said Erica had strung him along, but the truth of the matter was probably the reverse of the gossip. She knew Pete had wanted to like her, but he never got past wanting Chloe. Maybe now he would. Maybe he would have a foolish, grief-stricken fling with some painstakingly normal girl in Wichita. Not that he needed any more problems in his life, but it might take his mind off things.

"I'm ready whenever you want to go. I just need to say goodbye to Nell."

Pete said goodbye to the guys and turned to look for his brother. "What happened to Clark?"

"He vanished, as usual."

"Man, Chloe would punch him."

Lana shook her head and gave him a brief smile. "But she _would_ roll her eyes and say 'well, at least he made the funeral.'" She then knit her brows, serious again. "Actually, I think he and Lex had a pretty massive blow-out. Neither one will say anything about it, but they won't even look at each other."

"Great."

"Yeah."

"You know, we could just head to his place. By the time we get there, he'll probably be holed up in his loft."

Lana sighed. "True, but it wouldn't look right if we weren't at the service."

"I guess."

"It won't last that long. People can only stand so much social grieving before they have to get up and go the movies."

"You think?"

"Trust me, I know."

Pete nodded. "You know what's weird?" he asked, a puzzled frown scrunching up his face. "I expected to see Chloe's relatives from Metropolis."

"Her aunt and cousin were here for a short time," she answered a little stiffly, "but they already left. I don't think they expected so many people."

"Hunh. Must've missed them." Pete scanned the crowd again. "Hey," he asked, voice breaking roughly over the words, "do you know if her mother came?"

Lana swallowed hard. "Maybe. I really don't know for sure." Pete was still looking around. It wasn't right to lie about something like this, but the truth -- the truth had so many repercussions.

"There was a woman who looked the right age," she said softly, "but it could've been anyone, you know? An old neighbor, or teacher, or someone who worked with her at the Daily Planet, maybe?" she trailed off, trying to sound convincing. "Chloe knew a lot of people." Except that in her heart she _knew_ it had been the woman in the photos on Chloe's top shelf. Older, grayer, a bit more bird-like in demeanor, but...Pete didn't need to know that.

"I just..." Pete swiped at his eyes. "I can't help it. Her mom should've been here."

"I agree," she murmured, and hugged him again.

Neither Clark nor his parents were home when they checked, and his cell was going straight to voicemail.

The memorial service was at the old Methodist church on Main Street. There had been talk of using the high school auditorium, but Principal Reynolds balked at the perceived infiltration of church into state. Lex claimed having it at the castle was too great a security risk. Too many strangers in his home, he said. Any one of them could be working for Lionel. It made sense. But it also made her miss ownership of the Talon. She could've volunteered the theater. Chloe would've laughed and said, "Why not? The whole thing's an act anyway!"

It was odd not having caskets there, just oversized portraits of Chloe and Gabe. There were at least a couple of hundred of people pressed into the church -- mostly Plant employees and some students with their families. Luckily the minister kept it formal and preached a utilitarian sermon that reminded her of that old Byrds song. He didn't invite people to speak. Lana was glad; she had been dreading being asked to speak. She didn't think she could stand up there and lie to so many people, especially not in a place that was supposedly sacred.

She sat there next to Pete and thought how odd it was that the last time they'd sat in a room together was when they were waiting for Mr. Kent to get out of surgery. She wondered who her friends would be in a few months. Or if she would have any. She had a recurring nightmare that she'd get back and find that everything safe and familiar about Smallville was gone. And the song cycled through her mind again and again, _a time for every purpose under heaven_.

All that was left was the waiting.

Pete and his brother dropped Lana off at the castle with a series of warm hugs and promises to send email. Tonight would be the second night in her guest room, though the jetlag from flying to Paris and back within forty-eight hours was still confusing her time sense.

They had dinner in Lex's study. She'd never been in this room before. It was cozy, with walls lined in bookshelves and a positively average-sized entertainment center on the far wall. Ambient Euro-pop pulsed softly from hidden speakers. Being in here was like discovering a new part of Lex's brain. It was nice.

She was pleased when, after the meal, he invited her to stay and do her homework there. He was reading something and occasionally tapping quietly at his laptop. When he stopped to stretch, she put down her pen and spoke. "It's a little weird being homeless again."

Lex looked up, a wry smile playing on his face.

If he were Chloe, she would've hurled a throw pillow at him without a second thought. Instead, she scowled down at her Intensive French text. "Don't say it."

"I only want to help," he replied, his voice smooth as silk.

She smiled despite herself. "You know how much I appreciate it, but I'm not going to let this derail my plans."

He nodded. "You're booked on an evening flight back to Paris tomorrow. If that's too soon, we can always change it."

"No, that's good. It's perfect."

"The jetlag's going to be hell."

She laughed. "That's okay. I don't think it can be worse than it already is."

They returned to their work in comfortable silence. She still wasn’t sure what he was doing, or what they were doing, or what she was supposed to be doing. It felt really wrong for her to be accepting his help without giving anything in return, but he insisted it was a free gift. She almost believed him.

"What if I come with you?" he asked suddenly.

"What?" she asked, not sure if she'd heard him correctly.

There was a glimmer of doubt in his eyes. "I don't mean to interfere. The trial's in recess until Grand Jury selection, and it could take weeks for them to find twelve unbiased jurors who've never heard of my father or Morgan Edge. It's a good time for me to get away."

She couldn't hide her astonishment. All she could think was, _No! Please, no._ She could handle his showing up later, after she'd gotten her feet under her in her new environment, but not yet. Not with so much left hanging.

He held her gaze, and then nodded once. "Never mind."

"Lex, it's just..." She grasped desperately for a civil phrase to smooth things over.

"There's no need to explain," he answered, his face completely blank.

She tried again, speaking as evenly as she could manage. "I need to do this for me."

"I agree. It was a mistake to have suggested it."

He still wasn't getting it. "I _do_ appreciate all your help, believe me. It's just --"

"Lana," he interrupted coolly, "we've both had a difficult week. Let's just leave it at that, all right?"

**

He was an idiot. He was acting like a thirteen-year-old with a crush, and in the back of his mind, he wanted to blame it all on the goddamned scotch. The toxicology labs to which he'd sent samples reported that it contained enough belladonna to kill a man three times over...which was as unsubtle a reference to the fall of the Roman Empire as one should expect from his father.

Besides the typical physiological symptoms, another side effect was hallucination -- which bore its own stark symbolic message. However, nothing in his reading mentioned an inexplicable attraction to beautiful teenage girls.

He'd only gone to the ER out of concern that he'd fractured his shoulder when he went through the glass topped coffee table. He hadn't; his scapula was bruised but unbroken, and the doctors found absolutely no trace of the poison in his body.

Without supporting biochemistry, they were writing it off as a simple fall. He'd heard an intern whisper "psychosomatic?" at his demand for a second tox-screen, but the lead physician had silenced her with a glare.

Her suspicion reminded him intensely, inexplicably, of a woman he couldn't remember. He felt instinctively that he'd trusted Claire -- as much as he trusted anyone at least, and he knew that she was dead now because of him. Because of his war with his father. Chloe had given him copies of the police reports weeks ago. He'd skimmed Claire's books and gazed into her face smiling out from the back covers. He'd even visited her grave once, although it felt like an empty gesture. He didn't have enough recall, and with Garner comatose and his lab demolished, it was possible he never would...thanks to his father's inability to leave Clark alone.

The whispered "psychosomatic" had triggered something. It wasn't quite a memory, per se, but he felt with certainty that at some point during the lost seven weeks, his scotch had been drugged. He didn't know with what, and it didn't matter that there was no way to prove it -- he simply _knew_.

But belladonna. The audacity impressed him as much as it amplified his hate for his father. Belladonna was supposed to cause a swift and violently painful death, yet he was impervious. Or rather, he'd experienced the typical symptoms, but they had passed swiftly enough for him to prevent the valet who'd run in at the sound of the crash from calling an ambulance.

He was on the verge of testing spoonfuls of household poisons to prove his new theory.

None of which explained Lana. It wasn't what Clark seemed to think it was. They did have things in common, like growing up too fast and surviving the meteor shower. And loving Clark. Maybe he only wanted someone around to commiserate with. Chloe's presence had been a breath of fresh air, with her exuberance for muckraking and sheer rage at his father. He hadn't been able to protect her as well as he'd hoped, but at least she'd gotten out alive...even though she wouldn't truly be safe until his father was dead. Maybe he missed her, too, or maybe he just missed the verbal sparring.

Lana wasn't anything like her, even though it was painfully obvious how much she wanted to be. And neither of them were anything like other women he'd known before.

Clark blamed him for ruining his life. Clark suspected him of seducing his ex. Clark refused to believe in anything but his fear that Lex's only feelings for him were for some kind of living science project. Clark was an idiot. Which didn’t make him any less lovable. Just more infuriating. And that did a lot to explain the copious tears Lana had shed over him. At the end of the day, Clark was still as shortsighted as the average teenager. Nothing Lex could do would change that. But that didn't make him feel any better.

He wanted to believe that Lana understood his disappointment, even though she couldn't because she didn't know. And yet, the fact of the matter was that she was the closest thing to a real friend that he had left these days -- not merely in Smallville, but anywhere.

Meanwhile, the jackals were already nosing around, wanting the first bite out of his father as soon as he died. It didn't matter whether it was his liver, suicide, or a shiv in the gut that finally did it; legions would come to piss on Lionel's grave. He'd earned it.

And what would Lex do then? As it stood, he couldn't trust his own housekeeping or security staff. What would he do when he rose to claim the Luthor empire? What was a king without his generals? After all, Alexander had never relied solely on Hephaestion.

The situation required an immediate remedy.

**

"Oh my god, what _happened_ to you?" Lana had just knocked on the open door between Lex's sitting room and bedroom. He was just coming out of the bathroom and had a large towel wrapped around his waist. An angry, purple and black bruise covered his left shoulder and part of his side.

He glared at her and pulled on the robe that was draped over a chair.

"Lex, did someone attack you?"

He made a face. "Would you believe I fell?"

"No. I wouldn't," she said and held his gaze.

He shrugged with one shoulder. "It doesn't matter. The person responsible is no longer in the picture."

She stiffened. "Clark didn't do that to you, did he?"

Lex's eyes went wide in surprise. "No! Of course not."

"Okay...I'm just not really clear on what's going on."

"It was something else entirely, but it's nothing you need to be concerned about."

Lana scowled at him, but he didn't volunteer anything else. She wished him a goodnight and returned to her room, sprawling out on the bed with her laptop. The Ledger had spelled Chloe's name correctly, although the implication of Lionel's involvement was vague, at best, and buried deep in the twelfth paragraph.

She didn't log off, even after she put on her pajamas and curled up in bed. It was too soon, of course. It might be a year or more. But if Chloe could find a way, she would. Lana drifted off, remembering Chloe's colorful, cluttered, book-strewn bedroom and the scent of her shampoo.

In the morning, she awoke, curled on her side, with her thumb stroking back and forth over the computer's touch pad. An IM window was blinking on the screen.

> [01:48] one_time_use_86: miss you lots. Stay safe.

 

And that was all.

Tears trickled down her cheeks. Before she knew it, she was crying in earnest. Finally. She hadn't cried since.... They'd been out shopping for her trip. Lana had wanted to run by the cemetery, to see her parents' graves a last time before she left. Chloe went with her, gave her some time, and then told her the plan. The initial shock lasted a while. Luckily, she was such a basket case with all the packing that it disguised everything else she was feeling. Fear for Chloe's safety. Rage at Lionel for causing this mess. Devastation at the loss of her best friend for however long she'd be in hiding. And that was so much worse because they'd only just begun healing the gulf between them.

They'd cried together until Chloe forced out a laugh. "I'm not going to be dead. It's just going through the motions."

"But you'll be gone."

"And you will, too. But hopefully, whenever the trial's over -- or Lionel meets his not-untimely demise, we'll be able to sit back with a double mocha latte and laugh about all of this."

Lana stared, trying to figure out if Chloe was for real, or this was false bravado. Her smile was bright, her spine straight. She looked almost ready to take on the world. "You're so brave," she said, more than a little awestruck

Chloe snorted and wiped a tear away. "Not even close. I'm scared out of my mind. But I have to do whatever it takes to keep my dad safe."

Lana nodded, glancing briefly at her parents' headstones and then back at Chloe's face. "I'm really going to miss you."

Chloe bit her lip as another tear escaped. "Me, too."

"Could I ask a favor?" she said, stepping into Lex's office. Lex had told her the feds were supposed to replace her truck and make it look like insurance had covered it. In the meantime, she was without transportation.

He'd handed over the keys with a smile. It wasn't one of the classic Porsches, and it definitely wasn't the Ferrari, but it was still a pretty amazing car. "You know, I don't mind taking a less...expensive vehicle," she said, looking at the pickup truck in the corner of the garage. It was a lot like Whitney's, except blue.

Lex followed her gaze, face hardening slightly before he recovered. "This is more your size, I think. Be back by four so we can get you to the airport on time."

"By four?" she asked, envisioning a day of zipping around farmland in a sports car. It was only ten. "If you insist."

She ran a few errands, trying to remember the things she'd forgotten to take to Paris with her. Naturally, she'd left the list on her bed at her home-stay family's house in France, but she could reconstruct most of it. She needed to remember to stop in Metropolis and get a better dictionary. Maybe they could leave at two.

She pulled slowly into the Kent driveway, careful of the gravel. Mrs. Kent was standing on the porch when she got out of the car.

"Goodness, Lana, I thought you were Lex."

"Sorry, he just lent me the car since mine...kind of blew up with the house," she said, wondering if she was ever going to find a painless way to phrase it.

"Lana, this is a surprise." Clark's dad shuffled weakly through the screen door. He looked as if the funeral had taken quite a toll.

"Hi, Mr. Kent. Are you all right?"

"Come on in, and let me get you some tea," Martha said, herding Jonathan mildly back inside. Lana followed dutifully and sat down at the kitchen table.

"We're not supposed to know anything, but --" Martha started.

"Now, sweetheart --"

Lana smiled sadly. "There doesn't seem to be much to know."

Mrs. Kent nodded sympathetically. "I'm sure this is going to be rough on you and your friends."

"How's Clark taking it?" Lana asked.

"Uh," Jonathan faltered, "we don't really know."

"Is he around? I was kind of hoping we could talk before I leave again."

"I'm not --"

"He was --"

"Here I am," Clark said, appearing at the edge of the living room.

"Clark!" Martha said a little too loudly, blushing when she caught Lana's curious frown.

"Son..." Jonathan was giving him one of those strangely intent looks, like he was willing Clark to read his mind.

Clark ignored them. "Lana."

"Hey."

"Come out to the loft."

"Son?" Jonathan called after them. He didn't respond.

She followed him out the barn and watched him cross to the open window of the old haymow. He stood stiffly, gripping the weathered sill tightly enough to bruise the wood. "Are you okay?" she asked.

Clark's mouth tightened into a thin line. When he turned to face her, he seemed...off, somehow. She stepped further into the room and leaned against the back of the couch, gazing at him.

"What are you doing here?" he asked finally.

"I wanted to talk to you. You weren't here when Pete and I came by yesterday afternoon."

He didn't answer. He didn't rear up to his full height. He didn't even fold his arms across his chest, preparing to wait out an argument. He only stood with his back to the window, hands clenched on the sill, holding on tight. She frowned at him. He met her gaze and held it in silence.

"When did your eyes turn blue?"

Surprise blinked across his face, but when he spoke, it was with the same disquieting severity. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Lana repressed a laugh. She and Chloe had parodied Clark's 'I don't know what you're talking about's' for over a year now, but right now his tone was all wrong; it was neither shrill, nor plaintive, and the force behind the words was a little scary. Chloe would have something light and mocking to say in reply, but it was dawning on her that the guy on the other side of the loft was not any version of Clark Kent she recognized.

She took a deep breath and tried again. "Listen, I know things have been weird between us. I just wanted to say that it was good to see you yesterday. It was a big help to Pete that you were there. He said that he's really missed you since he moved away and...."

Clark nodded absently. He was glancing around the loft with growing unease. Lana followed his eyes, but there was nothing else there.

"Clark," she said with growing irritation, "I'm leaving in a couple of hours and I'm not happy with where things stand between us." She prodded, "You kept saying you had something to tell me?"

He met her eyes and blinked.

This was unreal. "All right, tell me this. Are we even friends anymore?"

She was expecting guilt or indifference. Instead, he shook his head. "No, Lana, I don't think I'd call it that."

She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. It was stupid that he could bring her to the verge of tears so easily, and yet. "What do you mean?"

He looked at her coolly, head tilted slightly to the side. "My old life is gone. Everything's different now."

"Clark, what are you talking about? Chloe's the one who's life is gone."

"Isn't it a little odd how my testimony at the bail hearing earned her a new life, but only got me more of Lex's so-called protection? Not that I haven't had time to get used to the surveillance."

"Is that why you and he are fighting?"

Clark gazed at her blankly, his eyes bluer than ever and a little dilated. After a moment he said, "I wouldn't call it fighting, exactly."

"Okaaay," she answered slowly.

He smiled at her abruptly. "Have a good trip, Lana." He crossed behind the couch and placed a hand on her shoulder. It rested on her heavily -- not with bruising force, but not gently, either. In the past, he'd always touched her like a porcelain doll.

She looked up at him, tall and unfamiliar. She nodded with artificial courtesy. "Thanks, Clark. Have a good summer."

Down in the dooryard, she directed an uncertain wave goodbye at Clark's mother, who was standing at the kitchen door. Then she got into Lex's car and drove back to the castle.

She stood in the doorway for several minutes, watching Lex pace back and forth across his office, barking orders into a headset and pinching the bridge of his nose. She guessed he was using some sort of code because little of what she heard made sense, but then, most of it sounded like bitching about someone's incompetent underlings, anyway. He ended the call when he looked up and saw her waiting.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to interrupt, but can I see you? It's kind of important."

He scowled down at his desk and nodded. Then he shook his head and said, "Come with me."

He led her through a maze of corridors to a back staircase. Halfway down, she finally asked, "Where are we going?"

"Kitchen," he replied, tilting his head up to face her. "Are you hungry?"

"Um, sure, but don't you usually, like, buzz for meals or something?"

His shoulders tensed slightly. "There's been a staff shortage."

"What do you mean?"

"I let everyone go. All but one cook and a housekeeper." He caught her shocked expression and amended, "There's a new security team as well, but that goes with me."

"Goes with you?"

"I'm moving back to Metropolis this week."

"But..." She stared, struggling for words. "Wow."

"I have an apartment there that I've barely seen for the last three years. Much tighter security, and until Dad's no longer a threat, that's an issue of primary concern."

Lana nodded and followed him into the kitchen. "I had Maria prepare something for us." He took a white plastic sack out of the refrigerator, added two bottles of water, and smiled at her. "How do you feel about a picnic?"

She shrugged. "As long as you don't announce that you're joining the marines or declare your undying love to me."

Lex gave her a sympathetic half-smile, but she didn't know how to respond. She'd never known Lex to show sympathy toward anyone...except for that weird day in the hospital when she was doing her community service. And he _had_ gone out of his way to help her back then...which was just weird.

The thing was, she knew Whitney's death had no conscious bearing on her life anymore. It was just that picnics always reminded her of him. Blue eyes and bright smile and so much...innocence. It was almost like a dream now. It was hard to believe that once everything had been so simple.

"Can you help me look for a table cloth?" Lex asked, pulling her back from her woolgathering. "I'm fairly sure there's one here somewhere."

She stood there for a moment watching his search. "I suppose you haven't spent much time in this kitchen."

He rolled his eyes when he caught her grin. "No, Miss Lang, I'm afraid you're right."

She laughed and started opening the cabinets farthest from the stove. After a few moments of gazing at an exceptional quantity of cookware, she said, "You know, we always used a quilt, or even an old bed sheet if the ground was dry."

Lex slammed the drawer he was rummaging in and turned on his heel. He disappeared down a hallway, returning a moment later half-enveloped in fragrant, burgundy linen, a stray dryer sheet wafting in the air behind him.

"This is beautiful!" She was mesmerized by the sight of the blue water nestled in a sea of green. She probably looked like an idiot, going gaga over a lake, but it was unlike anything else in the area.

"Isn't it?" he answered, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

"And the gardens are amazing."

He chuckled softly. "They came with the castle."

She glanced up at him, grinning, then looked away. The expression on his face was too...something. The Talon had been business. That they'd been thrown into this thing with Chloe together was something else entirely. That they were growing so...familiar...now was completely unexpected.

He spread the sheet out in the shade of a pair of oak trees by the water. She pulled her attention away from the butterflies dancing in the plots of salvia and set to unpacking the food. He gazed at the sheet and shook his head. "I've had picnics in bed, but --"

"Lex."

"Lana, I --"

"Just, please don't. It's bad enough that people are already talking. Now there's not even a butler to tell people we aren't sleeping together."

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize it would bother you."

She bit her tongue and forced herself to be calm again before speaking. "Ever since you bought the Talon, people have thought we had the same deal as Nell did with your father. They're usually too nice to say anything, but this is Smallville. You'd have to be deaf not to hear."

"I must be deaf, then."

"Lex --"

"Is that why you gave it up? Because people were painting you --"

She put her food down and squared her shoulders. "I'm not...that," she said, grimacing in revulsion. "I know it. You know it. The people I care about know it. And that's all that matters."

"I wish I'd known," he answered quietly. "I would've done something about it."

She gave him an incredulous look. "Even you can't keep people from talking."

"Sure you can. You just give them something else to talk about."

"Why wasn't Clark offered witness protection?" she asked, retrieving her sandwich.

Lex raised one eyebrow to acknowledge the absence of segue, and then studied her face. "My father overtly threatened both Chloe and her father's lives and virtually destroyed their livelihood."

"I _know_ that," she said with an irritated glare. "But it was Clark's testimony that proved he should be considered an imminent threat, and the Kents are just as vulnerable as the Sullivans. It doesn't make sense for Chloe to be sent somewhere safe while Clark stays here."

"You realize you can't tell anyone."

She nodded impatiently. "I'm already clear on that, Lex."

"According to my sources, the Kents refused to leave Smallville."

"They what?"

He shrugged and watched a squirrel dart across open ground to the next tree in its path. "I know the farm's been in the family for generations."

"That doesn't make sense. Clark told me this morning that it wasn't even offered."

He dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a napkin and tilted his head toward her. "I know for a fact that it was."

"He also said that you've got people watching him."

Lex sighed and shook his head. "There _is_ a team monitoring the farm for suspicious visitors. I don’t know what he said to you, but it isn't some kind of spy game. They live on a working farm. That makes it very difficult to provide adequate protection, but an illusion of security is far better than nothing at all."

Lana crumpled the waxed paper her sandwich had been wrapped in, tossed it into the plastic sack, and retrieved a bag of chips. She remembered the pickup parked out on the farm road before the turn to Kent Farm.

"What?" he asked her.

"Hm?"

"You're frowning."

"Yeah, I suppose I am." She lay down on her back, resting her head in the crook of her arm, and watched the sky through the leaves fluttering above them. "Clark was acting extremely weird, even for him. I got the feeling that his parents hadn't seen him in a long time. He was rude...or, well, mostly he was just 'off', if that makes any sense." She glanced over, saw the restrained neutrality of Lex's expression, and sighed deeply. "And...I miss Chloe."

Lex didn't answer. He sat, arms resting loosely on his knees, and stared out at the water. After a while, he reached out to take a chip from the bag that lay open between them. He chewed and pensively sucked the barbecue seasoning from his fingertips. Lana watched the clouds scuttle across the blue sky.

"Thank you," she said after a while, and sat up.

"For what?"

"This. It's beautiful out here," she answered, tilting her chin toward the lake. "Also for putting me up and keeping me company the last few days." She glanced over at him, smiling wryly. "I'd thought there would be more time, you know? I wasn't ready to let her go yet."

"I'm glad I could be here for you."

"It's hard, not having anyone else to confide in."

Lex nodded.

"Can we go now?" She laughed self-consciously, but gave him her best hopeful smile.

"Already?"

"Let's go shopping in Metropolis."

He raised his eyebrows dubiously. "Shopping."

"Chloe would call it retail therapy. Besides, I need a better dictionary, and we'll both feel better if we buy something. And even better if it's something frivolous. Or chocolate," she said, beaming.

"You know that's purely an endorphin response."

"And not everyone can afford to drive Porsches."

He pursed his lips, an amused sparkle in his eye. "Touché."

Lana was up and tugging on the edge of the sheet before Lex was even completely off of it. He gathered the remnants of lunch while she shook the crumbs off and folded the cloth into a neat square.

"Have you packed yet?"

"I did it after breakfast."

Lex grinned openly. "I'll call my pilot."

**

It was cute that she hated the helicopter. She said the noise and vibration of it set her teeth on edge. He took her to his favorite bookstore for the dictionary, four stories of everything you could ever want to know about everything. LuthorCorp security was not at all pleased with him, but he wanted them incognito. He'd had enough of the media uproar over his father to last him a lifetime.

He left her in the art section and went to browse business, history, and the small assortment of Warrior Angel trades in the graphic novel section. He found her again in journalism, flipping through a book by Cokie Roberts. Her hair was in her face and her lip was trembling.

He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and pretended not to notice the way her sheer blouse clung to her body. "You okay?"

She shook her head, sniffing a little. "She was reading this last week before I left," she said, tilting the book for him to see. "We were out grocery shopping, and she told me more than I ever wanted to know about Cokie Roberts and Christiane Amanpour's careers as reporters." She was trying to laugh it off, but she was barely holding back the tears.

He put an arm around her shoulders, opened his mouth to speak, and then snapped it shut. If Clark could see him now.... He'd been on the verge of quoting one of Jonathan Kent's aphorisms. Instead he inclined his head and whispered, "He can't drag the trial out forever. It's going to turn out fine."

"I know, but I've never been this completely alone before." Her eyes widened in surprise as soon as the words were out, and she immediately shook herself and thrust the book firmly back onto its shelf. After a moment, she looked up at him calmly and said, "I'm really sorry. I shouldn't be acting like such a child."

"Lana, it's okay..."

"No, actually, it's not. We're here to make ourselves feel better, not get caught up in even more pointless angst." She took a deep breath and managed a brittle smile. "Shopping," she repeated.

He smiled at her gently. "They have art supplies upstairs. Not that they don't in Paris, but..."

"Really?" she asked, perking up immediately. "Will you show me?"

He had no doubt that he could've turned the picnic into a seduction. And yet, he was taking a weird sort of pleasure in each of her rebuffs. They both knew the refusals were as half-hearted as the flirting, and that kept things in balance, more or less. What he wasn't sure of was why he persisted...except that wasn't true, either. For whatever reason, Lana, Chloe, and Clark were the only people in Smallville who saw behind his name, money, and the stigma of the 'weird bald freak'. He'd once gotten a ridiculous thrill from watching Lana unknowingly blow him off in conversation with a group of enthralled teenagers, rolling her eyes and saying, "Eh, that's just Lex. It's no big deal." For a moment, he'd felt almost like a regular guy. She didn’t have Chloe's talent for calling him on his bullshit, but perhaps her real gift was for treating him as if he were _ordinary_.

It was a lot like things had been with Clark back in the beginning, actually, before all the death and deception had clouded the air between them. Except the money hadn't mattered to Clark, whereas for Lana it was a serious issue. Money was business, and therefore required an equitable exchange.

In hindsight, he probably should have arranged a third party scholarship or a specific repayment contract for her trip, but then, at that point he was still, to a certain extent, doing all of this for Clark.

Not that Clark realized it.

Jerking off hadn't helped any.

All the images in his head came back to what she would've looked like with Clark moving inside her. Or what she would look like with Clark inside her while he was in Clark. Or while he was in her while Clark rode him, holding him steady between them. Or with them both inside her...which was stupid because she was probably only one tentative fuck shy of virginity -- if that. Her body would be too tight to take them. But...he could go down on her while fucking her throat, and Clark could take him hard and deep and fast from behind, driving him down deep, so deep. And that, that...he was crying out and coming all over his belly, and as he licked his hand clean and savored the taste, he realized again what an idiot he was.

No one could substitute for Clark.

Not ever.

Lex got out of bed when he realized he was too wired to sleep. Slipping into fresh clothes, he thought idly about finding himself a midnight snack, then snorted and padded silently downstairs, unlocked the room, and sat down on the stone floor to stare at Clark. Clark, larger than life, with his very green, very normal, very beautiful eyes. Clark with his open smile and well-muscled arms. Clark with his perfect, seemingly impervious body. Clark with his air of mistrust that never fully went away.

He'd seen her off at the security barrier with a long hug and a kiss on the cheek, and then taken the helicopter home. He had more to add to his notes. Lana's observations were valuable, even taken out of context. There was no reason why Clark should've lied to her about the protection offer for his testimony. They'd puzzled through it again over smoothies and fudge brownies in the bookstore's coffee shop. She'd filled in missing details, like his parents' surprise at him appearing out of nowhere when they seemed sure he wasn't home. And the thing with the eyes. Blue was a good color on him, but it wasn't _ him_.

It also wasn't like him to be so confrontational, even when angry. Conflict with Clark was normally a study in passive aggression, and Lex was long used to waiting him out. Even the declaration that their friendship was over was...well, it was infuriating, but it was also easy to rationalize away as an overwrought teenager lashing out at the nearest target. Deep down, he believed Clark would come around.

But yesterday Clark had actually threatened him. And as with so many things Clarkish, it didn't add up.

Lex glanced at each enlarged photo and display case in turn, completing his mental inventory. He knew everything was tied together by the acidic glow of the damned meteor rocks. What were the odds.... Never mind, he'd already calculated the astronomical improbability of this, against finding himself after all these years surrounded by people who'd been here and lived through that day.

They'd only been children, innocent kids caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. And now that they were no longer children, the progression to mutual attraction seemed only natural. Or, possibly, that was another characteristic of the mutation. Perhaps they truly were bound together for life.

A bit of Wilde sprang unbidden to his mind. 'Destiny does not send us heralds. She is too wise or too cruel for that.'

The answers he sought weren't to be found in the light panels or video loops or diagrams. This room told only the story of his own obsession. It didn’t reveal anything he wasn't already far too familiar with...no matter how often he protested that he was merely trying to understand his uncanny ability to survive.

He had no doubt that, in the end, all things came back to Clark. To their unremitting connection that was so much more than sexual magnetism. They were like a pair of binary stars, destined to orbit around each other until one of them overheated and blew them both to atoms. Binaries, like in the Kawatche legend from the caves. The legend, which _was_ a herald. And as long as he couldn’t sleep, he might as well.

There was something about entering a cave at night, something beyond the darkness itself, that struck him on a primal level. Lex reminded himself that it was impossible for it to be any darker here at night than in the daytime, and pushed words like 'looming' and 'macabre' as far from conscious thought as possible. Still, he was glad he carried a flashlight, and gladder still to find that he didn't need it. His father's latest research team had left the lighting in place, though it was aimed at the position on the wall where the octagonal hole had been. Lex was more interested in the section with Naman and Segeet fiercely locked in either struggle or embrace -- or both. He could imagine himself tangled with Clark, arms outstretched, thrusting their hips frantically against each other, the expressions on their faces almost feral with --

How could Clark have the gall to accuse him of ruining his life? His father, definitely. Lionel had pushed Clark far beyond any justifiable margins. But the purpose of Lex's research _was_ to understand what the meteor shower had done to him. And what moving to Smallville had probably compounded. If Clark happened to be part of the enigma...he didn't have to take it so personally.

It wasn't as if.... Lex realized that the lights were dimming rapidly. He turned to look for the control box, and stared. The opposite wall was glowing. The painted symbols shone bright with a golden white light and the Kawatche paintings interspersed among them shivered and danced, lit from within. He moved closer, hand outstretched. A curve of glowing symbols streaked out from the wall, growing larger and swooping past his shoulder. He turned, watching them encircle him completely and reenter the wall. They were pulsing with light, steady like a heartbeat. No, in time with _his_ heartbeat. This was...

He didn't understand.

The symbols in the air grew larger, thicker, and grazed against him as they spun. Their light was cold. Not cold, but -- wet? No. His brain vaguely registered the fact of synesthesia, but was still working on the -- taste? It was cool and biting, like lemonade in August with the scent of fresh cut grass in the air...but with something dark and woody, almost musty, underneath. But when the word 'bouquet' surfaced in his conscious mind, the flavor shifted, too, to the mingled scent of wild iris and fresh snow. And from somewhere dim and distant, he heard Clark calling out to him, "Lex?"

There was something solid, but it went away.

Lex awoke to the feeling of skin pressing against his own. He started to struggle, but the world quavered around him. He couldn't get his bearings in the watery blue light and couldn't understand why, or how, he seemed to be floating. For a moment, he was back in the ocean, clinging to the floating wreckage of the airplane, bobbing on the waves. A violent shudder wracked through him.

"It's okay, I've got you." It slowly dawned on him that it was Clark's voice, warm and comforting. Clark's face hovering above him. Clark's arms around him.

"Clark? What...where are we?"

"Shh..." Clark rubbed a hand back and forth over Lex's shoulder. "You came to the cave. I saw you through the wall."

"What do you mean, you saw me?" He was verging on panic. This had to be a dream, it had to. Or maybe he was losing his mind again. "Why can't I feel the floor?"

"Lex, you have to calm down, okay?"

"Jesus." Lex was shivering. Nothing was making sense. The light was poor, and there was...something like humid, super-dense air all around them, holding them up almost like a cartoon bubble. And Clark was holding him lightly, an arm wrapped around his shoulders. He pulled away and the sphere wavered slightly, then compensated.

"Are you okay?" Clark was watching him apprehensively, and his hand was still outstretched as if ready to catch him.

"Uh, yeah. I guess," Lex answered, smoothing his hands down his body to be sure. He was fine; his bruised shoulder didn't even hurt anymore. He shook his head, trying to clear the mental fog. "Clark, talk to me. Where did you come from?" He'd been looking at the wall, then the light, then the humming noise and the strange flavors in the air.

"Um..." Clark looked helpless with anxiety and yet, also plainly relieved to see him. Lex had no idea what to make of that.

It was too much to take in. Lex's eyes were adjusting finally, and everything was close and dark and...blue. He grappled at Clark's arm until he had a firm grip on his wrist. "What the hell is going on? I don't -- and why the hell are we naked?"

"Lex --"

He let go of Clark's arm with sudden force. "Why were you such an ass at the funeral?"

"That wasn't me. It was like an energy construct, sort of. I was fighting against it from here, but...." Clark stopped, apparently realizing Lex had no idea what he was talking about. "I've been in here for days."

Abruptly, the air became very bright again. Lex cried out and shielded his face with his hands. There was a roaring in his ears that rose to a deafening crescendo, and then died slowly away. When he opened his eyes, Clark was staring intently into nothingness, and then he was shielding Lex with his body, pressing down over him like a tortoise shell. Lex heard him shout, "No! Jor-El, you can't do this!"

There was something else, but it was too...immense...for his mind to grasp.

A moment later, the light was back to a weak blue flicker and Clark was next to him again, turning sideways to face him. Lex closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing. When he looked up again, Clark seemed to be doing the same. "Who's Jor-El?" he rasped, when he regained some of his voice.

"My biological father," Clark said faintly. "This is all because of him."

Lex paused a moment to take that in. Clark had said it as if it should've explained everything. He shut his eyes. The only thing Lex felt certain of was that two hours ago, he was in bed with his dick in his hand. He steeled himself and focused on Clark's face. "This is really happening, isn't it? I'm not asleep? Or hallucinating?"

"Oh man," Clark said, half under his breath. "I'd give anything if it weren't, but yeah. This is real."

Lex fisted his hands down into the strange nimbus supporting them. It felt spongy at first, but below that was a layer that refused to give. "And how do we get out of here?" he asked with growing annoyance. There was no trace of residue on his fingers. It was nothing but air.

Clark let out a long, shuddering breath. "I don't know yet."

That was -- 'unacceptable' didn’t begin to cover it. Lex seized Clark roughly by the shoulder. "I need you to explain _everything_ to me right now."

"Lex --"

"Are we or are we not inside a fucking cave wall?" His voice rose to a shout and dark veins bulged at his throat and temple.

Clark shrank back. After a long moment, he nodded grimly and pulled his knees up to his chest. "Promise me something?"

"What?" Lex asked, ready to promise the world if it would lead to some answers.

"Whatever I tell you," Clark began, his wary green eyes glistening in the dimness, "promise you won't hate me?"

"Hate you?" Lex's lingering agitation vanished. "After all this time," he faltered, shaking his head in wonder at how blind to the obvious Clark could be, "you honestly don't have any idea what you mean to me, do you?"

Clark looked down in embarrassment, and then looked quickly away as he realized where on Lex's body his eyes had fallen.

Lex reached out and drew a gentle finger across the back of Clark's hand. Clark shivered at the touch and looked up again, a dozen emotions ebbing and flowing over his face. His eyes were full of worry brooked by hope; his mouth opened slightly to shape a word, but shut again in silence.

A long time passed before a ghost of a smile rose to Clark's lips. Then he brushed a hand slowly down Lex's cheek.

After another moment, Clark nodded again. "I'd better start from the beginning..."

Sometime later, it might've been an hour or an eternity, they lay together in the faint blue gravity that held them. Their nakedness was long forgotten, and comparisons to babes in the womb had been noticed, spoken, and waved away. Now they sprawled, perpendicular to one another, with Clark's head resting sideways on Lex's chest, while his fingertips unconsciously tapped out Lex's heartbeats upon own belly.

Lex was still stuck on, "I thought you were a mutant. I thought we both were."

Clark turned his face, pressing his cheek against Lex's skin. "But I am, though, don't you see?" With this, he sat up to face him, the inertial stabilizers holding them mostly steady. "I can't imagine that Jor-El would have locked me in here if I were the good Kryptonian son he wanted."

"You think growing up on Earth mutated you?"

"With all the kryptonite in Smallville, and as often as I've been exposed to dangerous levels of it?" Clark shrugged. "It's a theory."

"I wish there were a way to prove it."

"Lex, I --"

Lex sat up then, sending a new wobble through their bubble. "Thank you," he said, and took Clark's hand between his own. "I understand so much now. Why you are the way you are."

"I wanted to tell you for...."

Lex squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry that I complicated things. I never meant to make it more difficult for you."

Meeting his eyes, Clark whispered, "I'm sorry I flipped out the other day at the courthouse."

"You were dealing with...an unpleasant surprise."

"The room," Clark said hesitantly, "it _isn't_ really about you. I mean, I get the so-called voyage of self-discovery thing, but...you've got a million dollars worth of equipment in there."

Lex flushed and felt his nakedness again, felt very small next to Clark's bulk. He studied the ball of his right foot and the slight callus in line with his big toe from so many years of constant dress shoes.

"What is it?" Clark asked softly, cupping an enormous hand over his bare knee. It wasn't a caress, but the heat of his palm still went straight to his groin, and it was all Lex could do not to push into the touch.

After several moments, Lex looked up and allowed himself to lose himself for a bit in the depths of Clark's eyes. Green as the sea. Green as safety, even inside a freaking cave wall. He'd told him everything. He'd explained every mystery and satisfied every irksome hunch that had ever plagued the back of his mind.

Lex realized that he was clutching Clark's hand fiercely and forced himself to let go. "I did believe I was only trying to comprehend what I am. I believed that for a long time."

"And then?"

"Then I realized it was an elaborate excuse. For the truth," Lex murmured, eyes returning to the sole of his foot, "that I only wanted to be near you. And the closer I got, the more you pushed me away, so I added more and more to the room. And after my lost seven weeks, it escalated even further."

Clark was silent, but his hand was still resting gently on Lex's knee. Finally he cleared his throat and said, "You saved me from Garner. I would've died in that tank."

"I wish I'd gotten there sooner."

"Your father would've --"

"I could kill him for hurting you."

"I feel the same about what he did to you," Clark said fiercely.

His grimace was gratifying, and Lex found himself grinning wryly. "Meanwhile, yours simply locked us in here, wherever we are."

"Jor-El killed people to get me here. And he hurt my dad and held him hostage."

Lex nodded. He wasn't surprised at all. "It sounds like they deserve each other."

Clark's brow furrowed. "Maybe that's the point. They really do. And the fact that you're here now says that we do, too, in a way." He stopped, noticed his hand still wrapped around Lex's knee, and seemed to decide that he liked it there. "I mean, it makes sense. This is one more of his goddamned tests."

"What, like a test that I'm worthy of you?" Lex asked sardonically.

"It's like Naman and Segeet," Clark said, gesturing at the nothingness where the wall of the cave should've, might've, been. "Two halves of a whole that keep the world in balance."

Lex pondered that. It made sense. The legend had always resonated in light of their friendship and Clark's disapproval of the less ethical business practices he managed to find out about. Except...that was strictly business. It didn't define who he was. He wouldn't let it. "And if I don't want to represent the forces of darkness?"

Clark's eyes twinkled in the glimmering light. He was shaking his head amiably. "I think you may've been right when we talked about it in the cave that day. I think the idea is for you to be the one who keeps me honest."

"You don't make that easy."

"But you've never given up."

Lex stared into his eyes and time fell away for a while. Then he surfaced and grinned at him. "I can live with that."

Clark smiled, leaned forward, and pressed a soft kiss to Lex's mouth. "No matter what happens."

Lex knelt up, steadying his hands on Clark's shoulders as the space around them shifted again. Threading his hands through Clark's hair, he kissed him thoroughly, moaning softy into his mouth as Clark pulled him close. When Lex leaned back, his eyes were shining. "No matter what."

Then the gentle blue shimmer that cradled them exploded into white.

**

The jetlag was going to kill her. She couldn't help sleeping on the plane, but set her travel alarm to buzz her awake at midmorning, Paris time.

She dreamed of Chloe. They were standing on the roof of Lex's castle, talking about Clark. The wall of weird was there, floating in thin air. Chloe was pacing and pointing demonstratively. In the distance, Lana could see the crater where their house used to be. A phantom Lionel floated above it, devilishly rubbing his hands together. Closer to the castle, a pair of brightly colored kites, one yellow and white and one purple and blue, bounced and fluttered in the air. Then Lex was there, trailing a claret colored cape and murmuring seductively against her throat, "Tell me everything."

Coffee helped, and she was grateful to whichever flight attendant had brewed the pot strong and let it cook down. If she could swing it, she wanted to make her afternoon session at the Académie. Making up the missed days of Intensive French was not going to be fun, but she wanted to make it to class for the first weekly portfolio check.

She curled up in her seat with her new sketchpad and a soft black pencil. The dream was still fresh in her mind, and the castle rooftop made her think of their odd little picnic yesterday. The lake was so serene. So peculiar that she'd never realized it was there. She covered the page with their lunch. The white sack of club sandwiches. The chips. A few words of conversation sprinkled over the dark bed sheet. Chloe's face floating in the air above, her own personal, attentive blonde ghost. Clark's face glowering among the tree branches like an angry dryad. The lake rippling down over the bottom of the page, glinting sunlight and reflecting windblown clouds. Lex sprawling, eyes held fast on the water.

But she couldn’t put herself into the picture. At least not more than a few curves that became the back of her head...and then a nondescript lump on the sheet, like the lump in her throat she felt every time she thought about living the next year without Chloe. So she filled the next page with her, all warmth and sunlight -- which made her think of the beach, so she drew cartoon strips of a bikini-clad Chloe on a white sand beach. And in her head she could hear Chloe whine, "But you have to come with me!" So she drew herself in as well.

At first as barely more than a stick figure in the distance, but each panel brought her closer, and by the last square on the page they were standing entwined, hugging their hellos, and beaming at each other in delight. 


End file.
